


He's a Demon, He's a Devil, He's a Doll

by UraniumFever



Series: Accentuate the Positive - m!SoSu/Nick Valentine One Shots [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Confessional, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nick Trying to Relate, PTSD, Robot/Human Relationships, Roman Catholicism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UraniumFever/pseuds/UraniumFever
Summary: A new addition to my Male Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine series.  I wrote this as an exploration of my main character, Hawke, who I pictured being a very religious man during the pre-war error.As a side note, I would also just like to add that I am Jewish and not Catholic, so if there are any mistakes in my representation of a 60's style Catholic man please let me know!TW: There is some graphic violence and a death.





	He's a Demon, He's a Devil, He's a Doll

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize to anyone waiting for more from this series! These stories had been written but I was just nervous about uploading them as I'm still newer to writing Fallout content. Hope you enjoy the following and I hope as the summer term persists I'll have more time to write.

“Ah!” The young girl screamed as the Raiders shot their guns, her hand was like a ball of iron in Hawke’s as he quickly pulled her along, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder.

“Come on, sweetheart, we have to move!” His breathing was harsh and his words sharp. He had thought about picking up the child as they sprinted towards safety out of the Raider camp but he hadn’t anticipated triggering a mine and wakening the entire group.

The shrapnel had grazed his leg, unfortunately blasting a particularly large piece of Earth to his knee. Hawke forced himself to ignore the pain, focusing on the tiny hand and only the tiny hand. He had promised her parents, looked the mother in the eye and promised to return her stolen baby. It broke his heart, weighed heavily on him as he planned his rescue at one of the most notorious raider compounds.

Nick was offering cover for them as they tried to reach a safer place to fend off the group, “We gotta lot more company then we were expecting.”

Loud roars of machine gun fire sounded off as they turned down an alleyway. He stuffed the child behind him as he brandished his weapon once more, looking towards Nick, “We’ll barricade the church up there, any idea how many we’ve got?”

“About eight,” he turned, eyes glowing with concern, “I know you’re a helluva shot but I don’t like our odds.”

“Nick,” he rubbed the soft fingers clinging to him gently, forcing him to make this stand, “We have to. We need to bring her home.”

The synth nodded. No more questions asked, “You find her a safe spot, I’ll guard the door.”  
It was a dusty old cathedral, many of its relics had since been plundered but the religious motifs remained illuminated in the moonlight, peeling paint leaving the saints in a derelict state. He pulled her over to the side chapel, the song of danger not too far from their position. The blessed Virgin Mary stared down at him as he sat the child down, holding her hands steady as she cried.

“Shh,” he ran his hand down the girl’s cheek, trying to ease her nerves, “Mary is watching over you,” he stared up at the broken statue her nose long since cracked, paint chipped to no memory, “She’ll protect you I promise. Just stay here and keep quiet.”

The girl shook not wanting to let go of the man who had rescued her, “No, no, don’t leave,” tears pooled down her small cheeks.

“Oh sweetheart,” It was a full moon – not the ideal night for a hit and run but the situation had been urgent – needless to say he could see her big eyes filled with fear as clear as day. He couldn’t shake the connection to his own son, lost and afraid, “I’ll keep you safe,” he glanced to the holy woman once more, pulling the child in closely, “Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

“They’re here!” Nick yelled towards the back of the cathedral as the soft glow of heated metal powered up in his hands.

Hawke pulled around his shotgun, leaving the child in something hopefully closer to peace. He joined Nick as the raiders gathered. One large man stepped forth, goggles pulled down to his neck, he raised a hand.

“You have something we need. Give the girl back,” his voice was nasally, hand still prepared on the trigger of his rifle.

Hawke shook his head, he and Nick were on both sides of the heavy doors ready to attack, “She is going back to where she belongs. We can end this peacefully if you just walk away.”

The raider scoffed, “I have a buyer who is offering me three hundred caps for her you really think I’m going to let that just walk away?”

“I gave you a chance,” his brow lowered, anger fueling him. He felt his face grow hot at the thought of anyone stealing children to sell.

One or the other shot first, it didn’t matter since it was clear there could be no agreement either side would reach. Nick provided cover as Hawke opened himself up while taking aim. The bullets flew past them, hitting walls and broken pews but they were a team that operated like clockwork. They fought together constantly, neither could imagine heading into the fray without the other at their back.

There were loud shots from the back of the building. Hawke turned immediately, knowing that they must have been breaching the perimeter to reach the child, “Argh!” He forced himself back onto a wall as a bullet ran across his leg, wincing from the crippling pain.

Nick stepped in and took care of the last two raiders before turning his attention to Hawke, “You have enough stimpaks?”

He quickly reached into his bag and yanked his own out, jamming the needle into his leg and forcing himself to his feet, “Nick, they’re in the building we have to,” he hobbled forward, firing shots of warning to the side he heard the commotion, “to save her…”

“Ahh!” That shrill little girl scream haunted his ears once more as he pressed forward.

“Let her go!” He ran forward aiming his gun.

A shot echoed in the building but it wasn’t his, nor was it Nick’s gun. His heart had edged its way up to his ears as the pounding increased in pace, body aflame in a mixture of grief and anger.

“If I can’t have her no one can,” the raider smiled smugly as he wiped off bloody bits of the child from his shirt.

The Virgin Mary stared down at the scene, watching over the young girl’s corpse.

“Hey—“

He knew Nick was trying to talk to him but he didn’t care, he couldn’t hold it in. One round. Two rounds. Three rounds into the man’s body without hesitation. He threw himself to the ground, grabbing the lifeless body of the devil and pulling it down only to lay his fist into the face. He was angry, furious, upset – everything had been boiling and now he felt ready to pop.

How many times did he have to negotiate before people would just take a hint and not press him? How many times did he have to do the right thing only for it to blow up in his face?

Blood managed to splash into his eye as he broke the nose. It stung. After a few minutes there was a hand on his shoulder, a mechanical one, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to stop. He knew he should have told Nick to leave, that he needed this to himself.

“I know you’ve been stressed lately, I, uh—“

“Please,” he held up his hand, trying to physically will down the stinging sensation in his nose and the watering of his eyes. Post battle dust he surmised, “I don’t want you to see me like this,” it was getting harder to speak as the thoughts ran through his head. That this was his reality. That people killed each other. That people sold children. That he had let down his own family just like he was letting down this family. That he was no better than them.

He stood, trying to steady his shaking hands as he removed himself from the scene. The cathedral was a mess, beyond donation help according to any pre-war standards. In an effort to find peace among the suffocating ruins he found himself moving towards the carved wooden confessional near the back. The door practically swung open as he palmed it, thoughts continuing to race, he had to remove a bucket of moldy papers but he sat in that confessional trying to calm himself down.

He raised his hands, still jittering with adrenaline and pent up emotion, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen,” he swallowed hard staring at the door in front of him, knowing he was sitting in an empty confessional in the dead of night by himself. But he didn’t care. He needed this. There was a faint memory in the back of his head, of all the times he had done this as a child and as a man. The outline of a priest was always on the other side, a man sworn not to ever judge another for their bad deeds – and didn’t he have a list of those?

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” he ran his bloodied hands down his face, letting out a deep sigh that had been held for too long. He reached up for the screen obscuring the place a priest would sit, trying to picture a man’s voice telling him to keep faith even though this new world had been slowing ebbing away any faith in humanity he’d ever had.

But he continued the memorized formalities, “I am a twenty-eight year old,” he struggled on the next bit, letting himself clear his throat before continuing, “widowed man, a father of an infant son and a soldier for the United States military. It has been…” it sounded funny to think of the next part but his mood wouldn’t allow for any humor of the sort, “over two hundred years since I’ve confessed.”

There was a creak on the handle as the other door opened, he heard the soft hum of Nick he had only recently been able to pick up on as the man sat down, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

“John 1:9?”

He rubbed his hand on the back of his head, removing his hat as he sat in the holy area, “I’m not sure… it’s the only one old Nick knew. I think he was a Catholic too.”

Hawke remained emotionless, he didn’t want to talk to Nick, he didn’t want him to judge him for the horrible things he had done upon this world. There was a pause of silence.

“What happens next?”

Nick was trying to help but Hawke bit his lip, trying to cull the anxious, gut-wrenching feeling in his stomach, “I confess my sins.”

“Look if you don’t feel comfortable I can head out of here and give you as much time as you need,” he looked through the divider, stared at Hawke’s face, wishing he could say the right things, wishing he could make all the pain go away, “I just want to help.”

He didn’t start right away, he just didn’t know where to begin. Hawke folded his hands and bent his head, “I confess that… that I have been a horrible servant. I have neglected my prayers in this new world, claiming to be too busy for the Lord. I have stolen trinkets, weapons and other examples of your gifts from those alive and dead. I confess that I have neglected and failed at my duties as a parent, my son is missing and even as I try to do everything I can it is never enough – I always reach dead ends and fail to teach and nurture my son as his father. I confess,” his words were shortening as his breath increased, he could feel the tears in his eyes, “I confess I have committed the ultimate sin and taken another’s life… I—“

Nick remained silent as he heard the man finally give in to the sobbing beside him.

“I-I,” he had never felt like this. Never felt so lost and alone. His hands wrapped around his stomach, clenching tight, as he cried. He hadn’t cried since the Vault and that had been without even knowing how far humanity had fallen up top. Now he knew for certain what type of world he lived in and he wasn’t proud to be someone playing into it.

“You’re alright,” Nick wasn’t sure what to say, what role he should adorn. The listener or the comforter, the priest or the lover. He decided he wasn’t good at pretending to be a priest anyways, “All of those things are beyond your control, kid.”

He leaned his head on the wall as he choked on his words, “No they’re not. I’m in control of my actions,” the faces of those he’d killed blurred his vision some in the Wasteland others from pre-war battles, “I’ve done this… I’ve killed these people, their blood on my hands, stolen from them, lied to them,” he shook his head as everything came to a head, “Nora is dead because I couldn’t save her, my wife is gone from this world,” he paused, holding in a breath, “God rest her soul. My son,” his throat tightened, “my baby Shaun is out there and I’m not holding him. I’m not being a father.”

“We’re going to find your son. I promise you that,” Nick wasn’t sure what it was, he knew he didn’t have an actual heart but there was a sharp pang where one might be as he listened to the man he loved break down, “You are one of the strongest men I’ve ever met, you’re also one of the most generous. I don’t know all the fancy words for it but your god will forgive you. He probably feels bad for you, wants you to know things will work out.”

Hawke closed his eyes, listening to the words. They helped. He let out a long breath, “I just don’t know what I did wrong? What I did to deserve all this?”

Nick reached for a cigarette in his pocket but decided against it… this wasn’t the place, “Wrong place wrong time, maybe? Honestly, I think it’s because you’re in the right place believe it or not. You’re doing a lot of good for the people out there. A lot of good. You have many people who are proud to stand beside you.”

“This feels like a punishment,” he thinks back to the war… to the Chinese men and women he murdered on the battlefield. To the ones he killed out of rage as he escaped their prisoner camp. He had guilt for the war that followed, the bombs that fell.

“I couldn’t be more proud to stand beside you, you know? If you were doing something wrong one of us would have told you, but you’re not. I think your god put you here to help us.”  
Some of his sanity and calmness was returning, “A higher calling? Those only happen in the stories.”

“What comes next in this, uh—“

“Confessional,” he finished for the synth, “Well the priest, would decide a penance for me.”

He shook his head, “Like what?”

“Well it can be anything from fasting, charity to saying a whole rosary…” he had lost his, the one his mother first gave him, when he left Sanctuary that fateful day, “Wish I still had mine.”

Nick nodded to himself, “How about this… if it sounds like something the priest would say to you? For the next month you need to look in a mirror or any reflective surface and say three good things that you’ve done for the world?”

That sounded harder to him than any of the ones he had suggested as examples. He had fasted before, he had donated the clothes off his back to strangers and of course he had repeated many a prayer. But this would be difficult, there were days he woke up loathing himself with no relenting.

It was the perfect penance.

“The priest would then ask me to express my sorrow,” he prompted, not wanting to leave without upholding the tradition.

Nick turned to the wall again, waiting for the moment this was over and he could embrace the man on the other side, “Express your, uh, sorrow for these sins to me then.”

“Lord Jesus,” he bent his head hoping that even after all this mess in the world, even with all the other souls that were also likely praying and worse off than him that someone might hear his prayer, “Son of God have mercy on me, a sinner, a murderer, a thief, a liar…” he paused trying to stop himself from going further, “Then I’d be offered absolution which you really can’t give me, but --”

“Kid, there aren’t any priests left alive. Walk me through it?” Nick offered.

“God the Father of mercies,” he waited for Nick to repeat it, hearing the words from another’s mouth sounded peaceful even if this was unorthodox, “through the death and resurrection of your son, you have reconciled the world to yourself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the church, may God grant you pardon and peace,” he paused again, “then you’d say: and I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father,” he could feel Nick’s eyes on him as the synth mimicked the gestures, “and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

His voice was quiet, soft, “I absolve you of your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

Hawke felt himself shudder as he heard those words from Nick. From anyone else it might not mean as much. True, this was a sin of itself… Nick was no priest, he was not allowed to offer absolution. But it felt good, it felt right and in the end that’s what mattered.

“Amen,” he decided to speak for both of them at this point, “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His mercy endureth forever.”

“Go in peace,” Nick nodded, he knew that was a phrase often used in the church.

Hawke was still a moment longer, even after hearing Nick exit. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the tear stains away. A moment of weakness. It was an odd mix of emotion, relief and shame. He wanted to crawl away from all demands and responsibility.

As he opened the door Nick stood there with open arms, waiting patiently for the man. Hawke collapsed in those arms, cradling his head in between Nick’s neck and shoulder, “Thank you,” he whispered as the mechanical hand rubbed up and down his back.

“Anything for you, kid.”

Nick grabbed his sides gently, pulling him away for a moment. It felt as if he was channeling the old Nick, holding his lover like he might. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Hawkes. 

“I love you, Hawke.”

“Thank you, Nick,” he forced his eyes close, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story (or any of the others) please feel free to comment and help me grow as a writer - it's always appreciated.


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